


B1gD1ck69: a love story

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Camboy Harry, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>non-famous au where harry's a camboy and they both like pie</p>
            </blockquote>





	B1gD1ck69: a love story

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, oct. 2014 
> 
> come say hiiya [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com) !

It’s been a  _week,_ an awful long exhausting karmically-unfortunate week, so Nick really can’t be blamed for getting home from work and immediately shutting all his blinds, locking his door, and crawling into bed with his laptop and headphones. 

It’s a Friday, late afternoon - a busy time, in the Internet porn world, apparently - so Nick’s got no clue if his favorite camboy off his favorite site will be available.  _B1gD1ck69_ , is, despite his username, someone who looks like he should be on the runways in Milan instead of on  _sexgaycamboys.net_. Nick’s the tiniest bit smitten, or at least his dick is. 

He scrolls down past the blokes he’s talked to before, until - ah.  _B1gD1ck69_ is online, and not only online, but he’s available. Nick bites his lip hard, considers the mountain of emails in his inbox and the texts on his phone that are going ignored, and then hits  _Enter Chatroom._

There’s an ominous little cling as they charge his credit card, and then - ah. The camera opens on just a male torso, and Nick sticks his fingernail into his mouth to gnaw at, checking quickly behind him to make sure nobody’s snuck into his home to judge his porn habits.

Then the torso seems to realize it’s being filmed, and a face ducks down into frame before the camera adjusts to accommodate it. 

“Hey,” BD says - BD, Nick calls him in his head, because B1gD1ck69 is a bit of a mouthful. His voice is low and sticky-slow like molasses. Nick turns his volume up, adjusts the headphones over his ears. “Hey, sorry, didn’t see you." 

He pauses for a beat, like Nick’ll answer - which he won’t, because it’s not a two-way audio/video connection, and then laughs a little at himself like he’s forgotten.

"Sorry,” he says again, pushing the laptop camera up, sliding down a little on the chair he’s sprawled in. He’s naked, of course, like they’re all supposed to be, and his thick pink dick is half-hard, lying heavy against his thigh. He most definitely lives up to his username. “Hi, MusicMan688. Hope you’re having a good night so far." 

Nick huffs out a laugh, doesn’t type anything. 

"I am having a  _great_  night,” BD says, wrapping his hand around his cock. He has tattoos scattered up and down his arms, some pretty chest pieces in intricate black ink, his hair nearly to his shoulders. 

“I’m doing so good,” BD purrs, jerking himself slowly, arching his back slightly in his chair. “I ate banana toast and watched the GBBO from last week, and now I’m like, really… horny." 

Nick chokes out a laugh, his chest hitching hysterically, puts his fingers to the keys to type. 

 _gbbo makes you horny?_ he sends, and laughs again when BD stops wanking himself when his computer pings, leans forward to read it. He has incredible lips, Nick notices, pink and full and wet. A sweet sort of soft face, furrowed eyebrows, a wide nose. Nick’s seen it before, but usually only in shadow as his back arches when he comes. 

"Gbbo makes you horny,” BD reads softly to himself, and then grins. “Yeah, mate. It makes my- you know what, it makes my  _dough rise_." 

 _that was terrible!!!!_ Nick writes, laughing despite himself.  
_don’t quit your day job_

Nick watches as BD reads the message, and bites his lip in a smile. 

"Alright, I won’t quit wanking off on camera,” he says, dimples popping out. He’s pushed himself closer to the camera, his dick out of sight. “Thanks for the life advice, MusicMan." 

He shoves his chair back, wraps his hand around his prick again. 

” _Anyway_ , as I was saying, I was watching GBBO,“  he says, slowly, rubbing his thumb over the shiny head of his dick. "And Frances got through and it was awful-" 

 _Are you mad_? Nick types, gaping at the screen, offended.  _frances’ pie was HANDS DOWN the best I nearly went out and bought my first pie tin thanks to her_

BD leans down to read the message, and lets out a gurgly little laugh, puts his hands on the keyboard. 

 _your first pi tin??_ pings back into Nick’s chatbox, and he stares at it dumbly. No one’s ever chatted back, except maybe to beg for a tip once he’s nutted all over himself while Nick watched. They  _never_ chat back. That’s like, the point. Nick often amuses himself by typing stupid things in, like,  _is that your cat? whats its name?_ and never gets a response.

_how’ve you never owned a pie tin??? ?_

Nick lets out an incredulous laugh. 

_who owns PIE TINS anymore_

_me!!!_ BD types back.  _i own a pie tin!_

_noway you do  
_ _theres no way bigdick69 owns a pie tin_

He sends it, laughing to himself, and stops when he sees BD read the message and his face go narrow. His eyebrows furrow. 

Nick gulps. Was he too much of an arsehole right there? 

"I  _do_  own a pie tin,” BD says out loud. “Just- wait right here a mo." 

And he leaps up from his chair, a flash of pale flesh and tattoos, and walks out of the room. 

Nick stares at the screen, befuddled. BD’s room is small and messy, a bed directly behind his desk chair that’s covered in clothes, a pair of Chelsea boots kicked on the ground at the foot of the bed. There’s a light on in the background, dim and soft, one of those floor lamps with multiple heads Nick had in uni and a multicolored tapestry hung above the bed, all blues and greens and purples. 

He hears footsteps, and then BD comes back into view, carrying - oh. 

A pie tin. He holds it up triumphantly, looking smug. Nick shouldn’t be surprised, and yet he is. He snorts loudly, and types: 

_WOW i take it back you are a very multifaceted individual_

BD tosses the pie tin back onto his bed, where it immediately bounces off and hits the floor with a loud clatter. BD winces, squeezing his eyes shut, and opens them again, gingerly, when the tin stops wobbling loudly against the floor. 

He grins sheepishly, runs a hand through his dark curly hair, and leans forward again to see the screen. 

 _i am very multifaceted!_ he types back  
_i have so many layers im like a croissant :)_

Nick snorts again, into his palm. 

_your puns are amazing do you work for the bbc?_

_they should hire me_ , BD writes back, a smile lurking at the corner of his pink mouth.   
_i know how to get things BUN  
__:)_

Nick groans. 

_terrible_

_i liked it:)_  
_anyway  
_ _do you want me to jerk off?_

Nick stares at it, his cheeks feeling hot. It’s already squirmy enough for him to do this, watch someone get themselves off live, but it’s the hottest thing he’s found on the Internet if the person is into it. 

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel morally dubious and extremely pathetic every single time, though.

 _you don’t have to_ , he types, and then goes redder, because how fucking condescending is that? Like Nick’s going to save the poor little camboy from himself. 

_i mean if you don’t want to  
_ _unless gbbo’s still got you all riled up_

BD reads the chat, his wide green eyes scanning the screen, and he laughs, reaches out to type. 

_bakeoff’s always got me riled up  
_ _paul hollywood, now that’s a real man_

Nick’s putting his finger to the keys when BD leans forward again and types hurriedly: 

_this isn’t paul hollywood is it?  
_ _oh god please say it isn’t . i enjoy your work sir._

Nick actually proper barks out laughter and has to cover his mouth. 

_no_  
_i sort of wish  
_ _but alas i am the person who doesn’t own a pie tin_

_ahh right,_ BD types back.  _the poor pie tin-less soul . tell me you have a cake tin at least?_

_my mum bought me one when i moved in, does that count?_

_have you used it?_

_uhh. one time to make a pita pizza._

_NO it doesn’t count then!  
_ _how do you live???_

_i just buy pie_ , Nick sends, and BD lets out a peal of laughter, scoots his chair closer to his desk. Nick can only see his chin and a sliver of his chest and his hands, now. 

 _mate you’ve not lived_ , he sends, his fingers tapping softly at the keys, audible over the webcam.

_i’ve lived PLENTY . ever had the cherry pie at ella’s at trinity and harper road ??_

_AH i’ve wanted to !  
_ _i just moved a block away frm there last month haven’t had the chance yet_

Nick stares at the screen, chewing his bottom lip, and then taps out -  _i live right around the corner. you’ve got to try it out._

_around the corner????_  
_what a coincidence  
_ _you’re not going to murder me are you ?_

Nick sticks his tongue out. 

_not planning on it_

_good i’m too pretty to die  
_ _ha ha_

And then, ten seconds later -  _i really want that pie now_

Nick chokes out a laugh, stands up to fetch his water from the kitchen counter, shaking himself. No, he is not going to try and bloody ask out a camboy because he supposedly lives in Nick’s neighborhood. That is not going to happen. 

When he comes back to his laptop he’s got two more messages. 

_mmmmmmmmmm pie  
_ _if i keep thinking about pie i could probably jerk off if you’d like_

_What a sexy, normal offer_ , Nick writes, and then, before he can convince himself otherwise - 

_i’d fancy some pie right now as well_

It sits there blankly for a second, as BD stares at his screen, and Nick watches him reach his hands out, slowly type something, delete it, then type again. 

_is that an invitation ?  
_ _i don’t do this in person just fyi :(_

Nick goes hot. 

_i know sorry sorry_  
_i didn’t mean sex_  
_just pie  
_ _but i understand. sorry_

BD looks at his screen for a minute. Nick can see him chewing his lip. 

 _how old are you?_ he sends, and Nick’s eyebrows raise. 

 _im 29_ , he sends, nervously. 

_do u have a pic_  
_so i know you are like_  
_29  
_ _and not 92_

Nick swallows hard, and then clicks on  _B1gD1ck_ ’s username, hits  _Attach File._

He sends a photo from Ibiza last year, with his arm wrapped around Emily and his hair a bit curly and mad. His eyes look good, though, and he’s tan, and his smile doesn’t make him look thick. Most importantly, he doesn’t look like a pensioner. 

 _on the left_ , he sends, once the photo is done loading and BD is watching his screen, face impassive. _obviously not the woman_

He holds his breath while BD inspects the photo. God, how fucking embarrassing if he got turned down flat because of his  _face_. 

_how do i know that’s you_  
_and not some photo of a model you stole off the internet?  
_ _;)_

Nick makes a weird squawking sound in his throat. 

 _oh you’re good_ , he types back.  _very flattering._

BD grins at the camera, tucking his hair behind his ears with both hands. 

"Take a photo of yourself with today’s date and my username written on it,” he says, voice soft. “And send it to me." 

God, this is stupid. 

_you actually want me to write bigdick69 on a piece of paper_

BD frowns, and types back: * _B1gD1ck69, please, give me some respect_

Nick laughs, and crawls out of bed to fumble around on his desk for a Post-It. 

Once he’s got it sorted, he takes a photo with his phone - well, he takes a dozen photos with his phone and chooses the one where his face looks the best - emails it to himself, and downloads it on his computer. 

Then he attaches it, shaking his head at his own stupidity. 

BD looks at it, amused, and chews his lip. 

 _sorry i look knackered,_ Nick types.  _long week_

 _you look cute,_ BD types back, still gnawing at his soft bottom lip.   
_you’re a very cute murderer_

Nick huffs, offended. 

_ive murdered nothing in my life except an entire pizza on multiple occasions  
_ _how dare you_

BD giggles, pulls the computer closer to him. 

_you actually want to get pie?_  
_like, i put clothes on, and we go and meet and eat pie?  
_ _is this really stupid? wait don’t answer that_

Nick types hastily. 

_this is probably stupid_  
_but i would get pie_  
_if you want  
_ _JUST PIE i know the rules._

He waits with bated breath, watching BD read the messages. 

And then BD shoves his chair back, looks into the camera on his computer

"Meet you there in ten minutes,” he says, looking nervous. “Just pie. Don’t murder me." 

He reaches out and slams his laptop shut, and Nick stares at his screen dumbfoundedly. 

 _B1gD1ck69 has left the chatroom_ , the site tells him, and Nick signs out and closes his computer. 

He spends the next seven minutes agonizing over his outfit and staring at his face in the mirror prodding the podgy bits, the next two searching for his Chelsea boots. When his face and boots are as sorted as they’ll ever be, he clatters down the stairs of his flat and nearly brains himself on the icy sidewalk. 

He rights himself, gasping, and looks around to make sure no one saw. Good. Coast is clear. He takes off, clutching his cold hands in his pockets.

Nick turns the corner next to Ella’s, and - stupid as it sounds  - his breath catches in his throat. 

BD or someone who looks very much like him is standing under the streetlight in front of Ella’s, dressed in skinny jeans and a thick black coat and a red plaid scarf, wrapped tight around his throat. His face is familiar, heavy brow and soft generous mouth. 

He’s prettier in person, under the soft glow of the streetlamp and not the dim fluorescence of his computer screen.

He turns when he hears Nick’s footsteps, and smiles at him, white and wide and nervous, maybe? Nick’s not sure. It’s wobbling a little at the edges. 

"Hi,” Nick says. 

“Hi,” says BD. 

“You must, be, um, B1gD1ck69,” Nick says, and BD starts to laugh, his breath puffing out in white clouds. 

“And you must be MusicMan,” he says, looking him up and down. “You sound different than I thought you would." 

"Don’t tell me BigDick69’s not your real name,” Nick says after an awkward second of silence. “It has such a ring to it." 

"My mum was very optimistic,” BD says, and Nick cackles happily. 

“Only joking, of course,” BD says, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I legally changed it once I hit twelve inches." 

He winks showily, and Nick rolls his eyes.

"You’re disgusting,” Nick says. BD flashes a grin at him. 

“Harry,” he says, sticking out his hand. He’s wearing fuzzy red mittens. “My name’s Harry." 

"Harry,” Nick repeats. “I’m, um, I’m Nick." 

"Hi, Nick,” Harry says softly. “Uhh. Do you fancy a piece of pie? Since I got dressed, and everything." 

"God yes,” Nick says, and he holds the door open for Harry to go in. 

They sit across from each other at a booth, and for a minute it’s so awkward Nick’s face starts sweating. Then Harry says something about Bake-off and Nick’s well-versed in that topic, and before long they’re arguing about the merits of baclava and collapsing into laughter after the third time Harry accidentally pronounces it wrong.

“Balaclava!” Nick chokes out, giggling. “Really, Harry! Mm, just whipped up a nice tasty balaclava-" 

"I’m  _sorry_ ,” Harry says, pouting, a smear of cherry pie filling on the left side of his mouth and a bit dripped on the front of his soft, worn jumper. Nick would tell him, but a) it’s funny, and b) it makes Harry a bit less perfect in the face, and that’s sorely needed considering how imperfect  _Nick_  is, in the face. “Baclava. Baclava. Bah-clah-vah." 

"Good job." 

They stare at each other for a minute, and then Harry looks away, shoves a bite of pie into his mouth. 

"It’s good,” he says, mouth full. 

“Innit?” Nick forks some up, looking down at his plate. “Better than your fancy pie tin pie?" 

"Never,” Harry says. “I make a  _mean_  apple pie. I braid the top crust, my friend Lou showed me how. She does hair for famous people so her braiding skills are, like, legendary." 

"Famous people, ooh, what sorts of famous people?" 

"Like X Factor people,” Harry says. “And some models." 

He licks his fork. "So what do you do? Other than, like. Internet porn." 

"Heyy,” Nick says, going red. “That’s a rare indulgence. Usually only on pay day." 

Harry just smiles at him. 

"I work in music,” Nick says. “Um. Assistant at a little record label. Just London-based artists.”

“Sick,” Harry says softly. 

“And you? I mean, I assume the wanking off isn’t a full-time position." 

Harry laughs, looking down. He has lovely eyelashes, Nick notices. Thick.

"Err, I’m just a waiter right now,” he says. “Trying to do music stuff. I’m in a band. But y'know, it’s more, like, for fun than money." 

"The best bands are,” Nick says. “In it for the fun, I mean." 

"The best bands no one’s ever heard of,” Harry says wryly. 

Nick huffs a laugh. “Touché." 

"It’s alright, though.” Harry shrugs, taking a bite of his pie. “I work at this Syrian restaurant in Camden and I get free falafel, so." 

"Sounds worth it." 

"It’s pretty good falafel." 

"I once sicked up falafel, so, like. I’ll just take your word for it." 

"Don’t!” Harry says, laughing. “Don’t put me off it, it’s like 50% of my diet." 

"It was a mix of, like, falafel, cosmopolitans, and tabbouleh-  _weird_  colored, honestly, like a minty green with pink-" 

” _Stop_  it.“ 

"Was probably the vodka’s fault, but still." 

Harry shakes his head, dragging his fork through the pie filling left on his plate. 

"I once vommed in my mate’s hair,” he says, grudgingly, and Nick snorts. “I mean, not even like  _once_. I mean, yes, once, like it was only one time, but it was actually - just last weekend." 

"Oh my god." 

"I know. I’m still doing his washing-up. He didn’t speak to me for two days." 

"One time I was in Ibiza, and I jumped off a boat while drunk and threw up in the ocean and - and fish started trying to eat my sick." 

"Shut up!” Harry says, eyes wide. “That didn’t happen." 

"Did. I was so terrified my mate had to come in the water and get me. Thought I was drowning.”  

“Well, the day after New Years last year I was driving up north with my family and I had to make my mum stop  _eight times_ so I could puke." 

"Oooh,” Nick says, laughing. “That’s rough." 

"She was so disappointed,” Harry laughs. “Like after the fourth time, it was funny, but then by the seventh time she was proper angry about it." 

"I bet she was. Oh, mums." 

Harry rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed but smiley. 

"Up North, you said?” Nick says, cautiously. “Thought I heard that accent. I’m from Oldham." 

"Cheshire,” Harry says, dimpling at him. “Weird. I feel like I’ve met  _no_  Northerners in London." 

"I’ve got a crew of ‘em I keep around,” Nick says, waving a hand. “When’d you move here?" 

"Last year.”  

“Oh, so you’re just a baby." 

Harry blushes, which is strange, considering he makes money jerking himself off on camera. 

"I mostly hang out with, like, my flatmate,” he says, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Don’t know that many people.”  

“How old are you?” Nick says, slightly dreading the answer. It’s not that he’s entirely opposed to eating pie across from an eighteen-year-old, but now that he’s nearly thirty it’s started to feel a lot more creepy to even consider. 

“Um,” Harry says, still red. “I’m twenty." 

Twenty’s not awful. "Mmm.  _Really_ just a baby, then." 

"I know, it’s, uh, I know it’s sort of young,” Harry says quickly. “But I’ve got loads of older friends, and I was shagging this thirty-three year old last year, and like. Me mum says I’m an old soul." 

His voice cracks mid-sentence, belying his words, and oh, God, how is Nick already this fond of someone? 

"Sweetheart, you jerk off for people on the Internet, I’m not exactly worried about your innocence,” Nick says kindly, and Harry chokes out a little laugh. 

“My flatmate and I both do it,” he says. “Like. Just, yknow, for extra cash." 

"Both of you are insanely fit, then?” Nick says, raising an eyebrow, and Harry blushes again. Nick quite likes making that happen. 

“You don’t- psh. You don’t have to be fit to wank on camera." 

"Well, it helps." 

Harry just ducks his head, embarrassedly shoves the last bite of pie into his mouth. 

"Have you ever, um,” Nick says, gingerly. “Met someone? Outside the Internet, that you met on, you know, that you met when you were - working?" 

Harry’s brow furrows, and Nick hastens to add, "Coz I haven’t. Like ever." 

"Me neither,” Harry says, flicking his eyes up to him. “Usually it’s like fifty year olds in random suburbs watching me wank after their wives go to sleep." 

Nick pulls a face. "Euurgh." 

"Yeah.” Harry laughs. “So, uh. No. Never done this before." 

"Ahh,” Nick breathes. 

“And I’ve never, um, I’ve never asked anyone off the Internet to come back to my flat before,” Harry says, slowly. “But, like-" 

Nick wants to take the piss for that convenient segue, but mostly he just really, really wants to kiss him. Oh god. 

"But like, do you, um, do you want to do that, maybe?” Harry says, in a rush, and then puts a hand over his face. “Oh my god, this is awful." 

"No, you’re doing great,” Nick says faintly. “This is great." 

Harry snorts into his palm, unattractively, and then wipes snot on his napkin. 

"So?” he says, sniffing, looking hopeful, and Nick nods belatedly. 

“Check,” he says. “I’ll- get. The check." 

—-

Harry’s flat is small and smells suspiciously musty, but Nick’s too busy snogging to give a shit. He stumbles up two flights of stairs attached to Harry’s mouth, and Harry fumbles the door open with one hand, gasping, and they fall inside. 

"I’ve like, I’ve never done this before,” Harry says, arching his back when Nick sucks a kiss into his throat. “I mean, with someone from like-" 

"Haz! You didn’t get murdered by that creep from the chatroom!” Nick hears, and he breaks off from Harry’s neck to see a boy - short, blonde, wide-eyed- standing in the entryway. 

“Ahh,” he says, taking in the scene. “Sorry?" 

"Shut up, Niall, Jesus Christ!” Harry says, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t really think you’re a creep,” he mumbles to Nick. 

Nick lifts his hand from the small of Harry’s back to wave at the boy. 

“Sorry about that, mate,” the boy says. “I mean. Jury’s still out on whether you’re creepy, but. Very nice to meet you. I’m Niall." 

"My flatmate,” Harry says, shamefacedly. “And an idiot." 

"Hi, Niall, I’m Nick,” Nick says, half-offended, half-determined to prove that he is in no way a creep. “Sorry to, uh, intrude." 

"Can you go down the hall for a bit?” Harry says pleadingly. “Lou’s home, I saw the light on." 

"I’m in the middle of  _Boondock Saints_ -" 

"You’ve seen that movie seventy thousand times. And I’ve done your washing-up for the past week, so-" 

"Because you puked in my hair!” Niall yelps, indignant, and then apologetically to Nick, “Sorry. I’m not supposed to mention that in front of people he pulls." 

Harry groans against Nick’s neck, mortified. 

"I’ll just- get out,” Niall says helpfully, and he grabs his blanket and his half-empty bottle of beer and hurries out of the flat. 

Once the door’s closed, Harry huffs out a laugh, drops his head against Nick’s shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “He’s an idiot." 

"He seems sweet,” Nick says, and Harry dimples at him, sweeps Nick’s hair off his forehead with his hand and presses a kiss against the side of his mouth. 

“Enough about him,” he says, moving his mouth down, to Nick’s pulsepoint. “D'you, um, want to see my room?" 

Nick nods fervently, and lets himself be led. 

Harry’s room is small and oddly famililar- the tapestry, the mess of clothes on his bed. His laptop is still open on his desk. 

"Shit,  _sorry_ ,” Harry says, when he sees the mess. “Umm. Let me just-" 

He starts sweeping clothes off the bed into a plastic laundry basket. 

"I haven’t had someone home in, like, ages,” he says, breathing hard from exertion, dropping a pile of shirts into the basket. “I mean, I was - I was hooking up with this guy but he had this posh flat in Primrose Hill so I always just went over there." 

"Is this the 33 year old?" 

Harry looks up, confused, and then says, "Oh, no. No. That was a woman." 

Nick raises an eyebrow, plucks a pair of briefs off the ground and drops them delicately into the laundry basket. 

"I’m so sorry,” Harry says again, letting out a laugh, pushing his hair back from his face. 

“It’s alright,” Nick says, amused. “I remember being twenty." 

He doesn’t mention the fact that, even at 29, his flat is still a complete tip. At least he’s figured out how to hang up his clothes by now. 

"Ahh,” Harry says, straightening up, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “There we, uh. There we go." 

He gestures awkwardly behind him at the messily-made bed, and Nick laughs. 

"Well, you did clean it off for me, I spose,” he says, and reaches out for Harry again, kisses his soft willing mouth, bends him back onto the bed. 

They snog for a while. Harry’s tongue is broad and wet and he moans against Nick’s mouth when Nick pulls his long hair. He’s into that, then. Nick quite likes figuring out something he’s into. 

He pulls back from Harry eventually, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down. Harry’s mouth is swollen and his eyes are dreamily glazed over, blinking slowly up at Nick. 

“Can I, er,” Nick says, sliding his hand down Harry’s belly, his well-muscled torso. All of a sudden he remembers what Harry’s dick looks like, from the chatroom, and he has to swallow against an eager rush of saliva. “Can I, like, suck you off?" 

Harry licks his bottom lip. 

"Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Please." 

Nick kisses the tattoo he knows Harry has on his hip, dark and more intense in person, and then undoes his jeans. His cock is a hard line in his black briefs, and Nick puts his hand against it. 

"Just from kissing?” he says, pleased, looking up at Harry. 

Harry’s stomach is heaving. 

“I’m easy,” he manages to say, with a shaky little laugh, and he pushes his hips up hopefully. 

Nick takes the hint. 

Harry’s cock is thick and it twitches when Nick tugs his briefs down, spurts a drip of precome against Nick’s mouth, salty and bitter. Nick licks it off, and licks the head, and licks Harry’s slit until he leaks again, and licks that up too for good measure. For some reason it’s getting to him, the way it smells and tastes, the way Harry’s already trembling above him. Maybe it’s been a while since he had a real shag.

When he swallows Harry down, Harry groans low and long, smacks his hand against the mattress. 

He comes quickly - he is  _twenty_ , Nick supposes- and Nick lifts his head with a mouthful of Harry’s come, crawls off the bed and spits into the bin by Harry’s desk. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, breathlessly. “Should’ve - should’ve given you more warning." 

"S'alright,” Nick says, standing over him, wiping his mouth. “Better than the bloke at uni who accidentally came in my hair." 

Harry winces, splayed out on the bed with his jumper still on, rucked up around his chest, and his jeans pushed down to his knees. There’s a bitemark going purple on his hip above his tattoo, and Nick grins at it happily. Nice. 

"C'mere,” Harry says, beckoning for him with both hands, and Nick pulls off his jeans before he flops back down to the bed, holding himself up above Harry and kissing his wet, soft mouth. 

Harry gropes him through his briefs until Nick’s rock-hard and leaking, shuddering under the pressure of Harry’s broad, hot hand. 

“Christ,” he gasps out. “C'mon." 

Harry grins huge against his cheek, nips at Nick’s bottom lip with his teeth, and then slides down his body. 

 Fuck, he’s good with his mouth. Nick lies there gasping, like a bloody fish out of water, until Harry spreads Nick’s legs wide and goes for a cheeky finger, against his perineum and then at his rim, and  _oh_ , god, okay. Okay. Nick moans in encouragement, reaches down to touch Harry’s soft head, splays his legs for his wicked fingers. 

"Christ,” he gasps again, maybe the only word he’s said in the last ten minutes other than Harry’s name. “Christtttt. Harry. Fuck." 

Harry hums against the shaft, slides his wet mouth over the head, knuckles against Nick’s perineum with two fingers, and like - like a button being pushed, Nick whimpers and spills down Harry’s throat, hips jerking up. 

God. Wow. 

Harry lifts his head, dark-eyed, and Nick watches in amazement as he swallows very slow, throat bobbing, licking his mouth. 

"I- wow,” Nick says, stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that." 

Harry goes red and ducks his head, hair falling forward. 

"I like it,” he says. “Sorry-" 

"Oh my god, no, don’t say you’re sorry,” Nick says, quickly. “Just. God. No, it was amazing. I just didn’t - you know. Uhhh. Thank you, is what I should be saying." 

Harry nods, sitting on his haunches to the right of Nick’s hip. He scratches at his scalp, peers at Nick worriedly, and Nick says with a clench in his chest, "God, just, c'mere, let me kiss you.”

Harry falls forward with a grateful look and kisses him hard. 

Nick maneuvers them so Harry’s on his back, kisses him slowly and softly until Harry’s eyes flutter shut. It’s barely nine PM, and yet Harry looks like he’s out for the count, his hand grasping sleepily at Nick’s shirt, mouth hardly moving against Nick’s. 

Nick lifts his head when Harry snuffles out something that sounds like a snore, and pokes him. 

“Harry?” he whispers. 

“Mmgh,” Harry mumbles, batting at Nick’s hand. “Sleepy. Shh." 

Nick stares at him, huffs out an incredulous laugh. 

"Alright then,” he says, when it appears that Harry is well and truly asleep. Nick stands up quietly, pulls his jeans up and zips them, pads over to Harry’s desk and finds a scrap of paper and a pen. 

 _Nick 02085669897 xx_ , he writes, and adds a smiley face for good measure. After a second, he puts in parentheses: ( _MusicMan)_ , and closes Harry’s laptop, sets the note on top, weighed down with a pack of gum he finds on the desk. 

He makes his way out through the unfamiliar, cramped flat, feeling a bit wobbly, unable to keep a grin off his mouth. The walk home is short but  _freezing_  cold, and Nick zips his jacket all the way up, braces himself against the icy wind. 

By the time he gets back he’s got a text. 

_Hii this is harry  
_ _sorry i passed out on you …_

Nick shrugs his jacket off, rubs his frozen fingers together. 

 _it’s alright_ , he types back.  _you looked sweet._

 _thanks for the pie_ , Harry sends immediately.  _and for the night. i had fun._

Nick stares at it for a minute, and then tucks his phone away and goes to bed. When he’s curled up under his covers he feels it buzz again, and he yanks it out. 

_fancy doing it again sometime???_

Nick makes a strangled sound in his throat that he would never, ever admit to anyone. 

 _yes_ , he sends back, not caring if it seems eager.  _yes i’d like that_

Harry sends just a smiley-face - he’s  _twenty_ , good god, Nicholas - and Nick rereads it about a dozen times before he slips into sleep. 


End file.
